Complications
by StarDuchess
Summary: A man walks into a bar investigating a death. I don't think he found what he was looking for. - little noir fic based on the Tom Wait's album, "Alice", written as a gift for Yuletide.


Written for Deepdarkwaters Yuletide gift in 2012. Based on the album by Tom Waits - Alice.

I was excited about the prospect of digging into this album and its story, but as I listened over and over again I had a really hard time putting the story together. I finally just listened to the quieter pieces, like "Alice", "Poor Edward", and "Lost in the Harbour", and realized it had a very sad, film noir feel to it, so I decided to go with that. No, I have no knowledge of the play, so this is my own story based on the songs. The lovers are based on "Fish and Bird" as you prompted, and the pirate/sailor came from "Reeperbahn" and "Everything You Can Think". The detective is all my own creation. I hope you like this.

Thanks for the quick beta job goes to Ashiiblack.

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**Complications**

The air was misty gray, a gray that had no depth or color which leached even the brightest pink to a dull mauve. Buildings blended into their own shadows and the sky was pregnant with weeping clouds. What light reached the eyes was an ambient haze randomly punctuated with glaring off-white car headlamps as they splashed by. Pedestrians on the street hustled past, umbrellas raised and coat necklines flipped up against the chill, though the wet still clung to them.

A lone figure strolled up to the burnt-brick building whose neon sign of "Table-Top Joe's" did little to brighten the dingy street, but it's green diffuseness still called to travelers looking for a rest spot. The man's rough hand turned the rusty latch on the door and pushed inward. He stepped into an even darker cavern that assaulted him with stale cigarette smoke, cheap booze, and sweaty men. A flashy jukebox sat in the corner playing old naft 1950s jazz songs, but the scratchy albums just added to the grime on the walls and floor. All the single winos barely glanced at the newcomer before attending back to their drinks. A small town like this one should have been the place for gossip, but tonight was the twilight of solitude.

Striding up, the man gestured for a word with the barkeep. "Evening. Can I get a gin and tonic?"

The barkeep eyed him with small brown eyes and a frowning mustache. "That's an old lady's drink."

"No mind. I don't like to get too fuzzy, if you know what I mean."

The man behind the counter nodded and poured the liquids together, blending it to the palest yellow, which was then obscured by the dark smudges on the glass. He passed it to the man, who took a swallow and thanked him.

"You gonna get a lot of customers later?"

The barkeep shrugged and wiped down the worn wooden counter. Part of it was splintering on the underside and the rag snagged on it. He swore, gently pulled the rag in the opposite direction, and bent down to examine the break. "Sometimes we get a lot. Not tonight, though."

The man nodded in understanding. "The weather, I take it. Did this man ever come in here?" He took out a dog-eared photo of a thin scraggly man and laid it on the table in between them, facing the barkeep.

The his eyes narrowed further. "That's Edward. Came in here lots o' times. Why do you wanna know?"

The man hitched up his trousers, a nondescript black pair fading at the knees and along the belt loops. His bracers were red and it appeared the elastic was going. The shirt underneath was a cornflower blue that did nothing to improve his looks, but the little red tie he wore helped even it out. A black suit jacket that matched the trousers peaked out from below his pale brown overcoat. He looked every part a detective minus the hat. Instead his medium brown hair was in a messy cut. "Well, I, uh … was looking into his death for a life insurance company. Can you tell me what he was like?"

The barkeep sighed and looked away. He picked up a glass and began cleaning it absent-mindedly. "Poor Edward." He shook his head. "He never seemed to have a lot going for him. Grew up with just his mom, his dad skiving off years ago. Was a decent kid - made okay grades, stayed out of trouble, that sort of thing. He took odd jobs around town, but never had any ambition to be anything."

"Doesn't sound too bad."

"No." He sighed again. "Not until she showed up."

"She? A girlfriend?" The detective took out a yellow, spiral notebook and a pen and began to take notes, small quick scribbles, almost illegible.

The other man wriggled his nose. "Don't know if you'd call her that, but he was certainly infatuated with her. Had the worst doe-eyed look. He met her the first day she walked through town, heading to the drug store, flared skirt flapping in the breeze. He was cleaning the windows outside Mrs. Holden's beauty parlor. She stopped and looked in, asked him about prices for nails, for which he just shrugged and said he didn't know. After that, she stuck to him like glue. You never saw him around town again without her by his side, hanging on his arm, laughing, saying things in his ear. He looked like a dazed puppy in love."

"What about her? What was she like?"

"Alice was carefree. Never seemed disturbed by anything going on around her, except when they argued. She'd get this really mean look in her eyes, tell him off and what he could do with himself."

"Did that happen much?"

"Can't really say as I only saw it happen once here. Mostly, she was pretty flighty, though kinda fun."

"He died in the coastal town of Hamburg, Germany. Do you know why he left?"

The barkeep shook his head, looking far off to the distance again. "Nah. Just up and left one day."

"Did he have any other friends?"

"Not really."

"Any enemies?"

He gave a little shake of the head. "No."

The detective took a long swig of his drink, then smacked his lips as he looked back over his notes. "You said he came here often. Did he know Table-Top Joe?"

The man spread his arms in a dismissive gesture. "He did, but then again, everybody does. I wouldn't say they were close or nothin'."

"Can I speak to him, please?" He was starting to sound a little annoyed at the lack of information, hoping a new face might give him more answers.

The barkeep smirked and chuckled a little. "Boss ain't here. He's livin' it up somewhere else." By the glint in his eyes, it was obvious Joe was picking up a dame or headed to a brothel, such as it might be here.

"Hey," a gruff voice said from the far left wall. Light did not settle there, yet the detective had become accustomed enough to the dingy atmosphere to make out a large, surly outline. "You asking 'bout Edward?"

The detective pulled away from the bar and nodded his head. He picked up the glass he'd barely touched, scrounged around in a pocket for some cash, tossed it on the countertop, and picked up the photograph before sauntering over to the table. It was scarred from years of abuse - spilled drinks and cigarette burns, pen markings scraped into its surface. Placing the drink down, he pulled out a rickety chair and tossed the picture onto the table. "You know him?"

The man took one glance and rolled his head, exasperation evident. He shifted in his seat, the old wood creaking under his firm stature. "Know him? Yeah, sure, as much as ye' can know any man. Quiet thing. A hard worker but none too bright. Then again, I'm mates with worse."

"And what do you do?"

"My crew's about town. Jus' came in from port." His meaty hand picked up the bottle of whiskey close by him and he took a long swallow. He wore gathered pants and large black boots. His white peasant shirt was stained, but the colorful sash he wore diagonally across his chest masked most of the deep red. Probably blood or wine.

"So you're a sailor, then."

The gruff man gave him a look that quite clearly said it should have been obvious. He took another swig from the bottle.

"And how did you know Edward?" The detective sat and organized his notebook, still poised on his information gathering.

The sailor's head drooped a little and his eyes lost their focus. "He joined up with us 'bout ten months ago. Said he wanted to see the world. Wanderlust they call it. Said he wanted to make his fortune, but that never sounded right to me. He didn' have the drive for it. He made a good crewman, though; he was very good with hauling cargo and tieing knots, picked up his sea legs quickly." He snorted and looked at the detective. "Had a lousy sense of direction and couldn't fight worth a damn."

"So what happened in Germany?"

Wiping his hand over his face, grief and annoyance playing over his features. It was a rugged face, not handsome, but it would be warm and inviting if he ever smiled. "We brought goods from Jamaica and pulled into port in Hamburg jus' fine. There was a strange spiciness in the air, but I thought nothin' of it. We unloaded the crates and met with the dealer. The whole time Poor Edward was lookin' all around, nervous. Said he could feel her."

"Who? This Alice girl?"

"Don' know, but I suppose so. In all the other ports, we would go see the ladies after we'd taken care of what needed doin', and Edward never came with us. Said he was in love and wouldn't betray her. I shrugged at him. He did still seem sweet on her, whoever she was. He never talked about her, but he would get this far away look to him. Must have been dreamin' of her, I thought. I once asked him why he wasn't back here with her. He didn't answer, 'cept to say he wasn't cut out for it."

"Did he ever say they had a falling out?"

The sailor frowned his bottom chin and shook his head. "Nope. Nothin' like that."

"So, Hamburg."

"Yeah," he said. He sighed and took another drink, a long one again. "After we got paid, the crew split up as usual and he was dragged along to the Reeperbahn. It was all chaos. Some festival was in town, and everything you can think of was on display down there - smokes and drinks, all kinds of wares, gold, jewelry, clothes, whores, clowns, cross-dressin' fags - just all hangin' out all over the street. We were pushed and shoved every which way. My crew was lavin' in it - free samples and cheap beer and stealin' what they could." He scratched the back of his head, then drank some more. "Edward thought he saw something."

The detective paused in his note-taking, bending forward to catch all the subtle nuances of the next passages. "Go on."

"It must have been her, or who he thought was her. He yelled, 'Wait!' and went chasing after her. She flitted in and out of the crowd, always one step away from him. I was followin' him, see. To keep him out o' trouble. Didn' work, though. He thought he saw her stop and kiss someone. Fury broke out over his face and he rounded on the guy. Next thing I know we're all in a brawl, the whole damn street - punches flying, bottles breaking over heads."

He stopped his tale, shaking his head. "Don' know if he had a death wish, but if so, it was granted that night. We buried him at sea. That was four months ago. After that, we've had a rough time of it. Glad to be here, dockside, for a while."

The detective nodded and closed his notebook. "Okay, thanks for the scoop."

The sailor raised his bottle in salute. He burped then yawned, ready for bed.

The detective finished his drink in one gulp. He stood up and replaced the glass on the barkeep's counter. "Thanks. One last question."

The man raised an eyebrow in inquiry.

"Where can I find this Alice?"

He finished cleaning another glass, set it down and flipped his towel over his shoulder. "You can't."

The detective scowled. "What do you mean?"

"She's not here. She vanished about the same time Edward left. Last anybody seen of her, she was wearing a blue-and-white checkered dress and dancing down a side street toward the park, singing to herself as she went. Hasn't been back since."

The detective stared at him for a minute. "Well, that complicates things." He didn't speak another word, just tipped his head in the direction of the sailor and put another few coins on the countertop. He raised the collar of his coat and opened the creaking door. A heavy rain was drowning the street, but he simply hesitated for a second before stepping out into the gale.


End file.
